


Consort

by deluxemycroft



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Come Eating, Consort Thor, Degradation, Feral Behavior, Humiliation, King Loki (Marvel), M/M, Praise Kink, Public Humiliation, Violence, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deluxemycroft/pseuds/deluxemycroft
Summary: King Loki decides he needs a consort. He puts on a small gladiatorial battle for his hand, and gives Thor his favor to win.





	Consort

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd. this has probably been written before but this idea kind of took me by the hand last night and made me write it. enjoy!

He knows what they call him. The wild prince, the lost man, the changeling. The boy who haunted the woods. There are worse names, but those are the most common. Now he is King’s pet, the firstborn whose only claim to the throne is the chain that binds him there. He does not care about any of the names. 

When he was young, he became lost. 

For fifty years, he wandered.

His tutor, a woman who was meant to teach him archery, had ridden with him deep into Asgard’s woods. Her horse had spooked, bolted, and by the time she regained control and made her way back to him, he was gone. 

He was asked if a witch had taken him, if he had fallen under a spell, or been kidnapped by a monstrous man. He claimed to have forgotten but the truth: he was spoiled, and had grown bored of having no one around to pay attention to him. So he had gone off to find something better to do. Once he was found, he told his brother the truth, and no one else. 

He grew wild out in the woods. It would have been easy for him to return to the palace, but he enjoyed stealing sheep and crops from farmers and taking clothes off clotheslines and hunting down wild game and hunkering over a fire on a cold, wintery night. In the end, those who found him had to drag him out. 

It had been his brother who had quieted him. He could not be quieted completely, but quieted enough that he could pass for a real person and not a feral beast.

Loki, so smart, so careful, so sly, had been a step behind their mother and father as he had been pulled from the woods, fighting every step of the way. None could calm him, none could quiet the rage. He just wanted the peace and quiet of the forest, none of these loud people who stared and gawked at him and gossiped behind their hands. 

Loki had stepped forward when it all seemed hopeless. 

“Thor,” his brother said. “Quiet yourself.” He had listened, going still and complacent for the first time since they had found him. He was very strong, but he could still be overpowered. Especially then, before he had trained and been gifted with Mjolnir. “Stop this nonsense and go bathe yourself.”

Loki had called for his attendants and he swept away. 

Thor learned later that fifty years was the amount of time a crown prince could be missing before the responsibility was passed on to the next eligible heir. He had been in the woods for fifty-one years. 

It had been easy, surprisingly so, to give up his future to his brother. 

He always wished to go back to the woods. But he stayed.

Loki says his name. Thor turns from the window and Loki waves a hand to draw the curtains. “Brother,” he says, and steps forward to take the hand Loki holds out to him, grazing his mouth over the smooth knuckles. 

Sometimes he feels as if this was meant to be. He cannot imagine any version of himself being happier anywhere other than here. 

He drops Loki’s hand and straightens. “Does my King ask something of me?”

Loki gives him a long look, as if he has to search to see if Thor is worthy of an answer. Sometimes, when he speaks, Loki does not deign to answer, as if Thor is barely worth the effort. Or he will act put upon, as if Thor is a burden. It always makes his cock tighten in his linens. His King is so good to him. 

Loki turns away so Thor can drink in his profile. His brother is so beautiful that Thor can hardly stand it. “Mother tells me I need a consort.” 

He first instinct is violence. It takes a good while of Loki looking at him disinterestedly and even picking up a book and paging through it for Thor to calm. 

“A few candidates will be arriving in the next week or so. I decided to choose a gladiatorial competition for my hand.” Here, Loki sets the book aside and pushes to his feet. He lifts a hand and cups Thor’s clenched jaw, petting at his scruff until Thor sighs and leans into it. “I expect you to win.”

A fight—a way to prove himself worthy. He nods. “Yes, brother. My lord.”

Loki’s hand slips down and rests over Thor’s thunderous heart. “Good.” Green eyes meet blue. “If you lose, you will spend the rest of your life watching the man who wins fuck me in your bed.”

The world spins as Thor cannot hold in his roar, and he opens his eyes to find Loki has transported him to the training grounds. His rage is white hot and cold at the same time, lightning shooting from his fingertips and his vision whiting out. He tears open a half dozen reinforced dummies with his bare hands and swings Mjolnir at the rest, panting once and swearing under his breath once there is nothing more to destroy. 

Straw spins in the wind as various warriors and Einherjar stare at him in disbelief. He pants and turns back to look at the palace. He imagines Loki to be in some far off window, seeing what his brother will do for him. 

He will not lose.

* * *

Where Loki goes, Thor is soon to follow. It was true of their childhood, and even truer now. The royalty in other realms know of this, which means there are not many who come for Loki’s hand. Loki has not announced that Thor will fight for him, but it is assumed.

Loki relaxes on his throne, Thor standing one step below him, at his brother’s right. Thor has spent the last three days training, and he is still achingly furious, but he is able to control it now. Control it until he is allowed to slaughter those who would take his king from him. 

Odin and Frigga disapprove of Loki’s method for choosing a consort, but Loki says that he is physically weak, that he needs a strong partner. He is not physically weak, Thor knows—Loki can hold him down, can force Thor to do his bidding—but he enjoys being held down, enjoys being pressed up against a wall and fucked until he’s gasping and breathless and speechless. He also revels in violence, and as King, he sees little of it. Thor knows Loki wants his husband to be willing to kill for him.

There are three contestants, not including Thor.

The recognition and fame and status elevation from marrying the King of Asgard is enough for those three to take the risk for Loki’s hand. Depending on the agreement, Loki could pay dowry enough to make a family comfortable for centuries. 

Loki waves his hand and the first contestant is brought forward. He is massive, with bright red hair and a great beard, and he is wearing tight leather pants and a sleeveless tunic. He is Eirikr, a lower prince from Alfheim. Loki waves his hand and the Alfar comes closer, going to one knee before the throne, bowing his head. 

“Why are you here?” Loki asks. “Why do you fight for my hand?” He looks bored, barely even giving Eirikr a glance over. Instead, he keeps his burning gaze on Thor, examining his every reaction, his every thought. 

Eirikr pushes to his feet, using his massive axe to lever himself up. “My King,” he begins, and his voice is rocks in an avalanche. “I fight for my family, and for the elevation of my people in the House.” Loki is one step away from yawning openly. “I will fight for the honor of being your husband.”

There has been a storm on the horizon since the first delegates began arriving, and it is outside the windows now. Lightning brightens the room momentarily, and Thor twists his fists, glancing over his shoulder to see Loki shiver involuntarily. 

“Next,” Loki calls, and Eirikr inclines his head briefly and then steps away.

The next man is another lower prince, this one from Vanaheim. He is tall, perhaps the tallest in the room, and his arms are long and powerful. His main weapon is a bow, but he is proficient with short swords, as he brags to Loki when asked why is here. His name is Sverre. Loki does yawn this time. 

“I ask for your hand for myself,” Sverre tells the court. Loki rubs his forehead with his fingertips, and Thor wants to go to him, give him a headache potion, put him to bed. “My family is wealthy, we do not need your gold and jewels. We have enough recognition, so we do not need your renown.”

He continues talking while Loki lowly calls Thor’s name, and he steps up to the throne, bending over so Loki can whisper in his ear, “I want you to kill him first.”

Thor smiles grimly at him and nods, inclining his head before taking his place again.

Loki interrupts Sverre, who is _still_ talking.

“Bring out the last one. You, shut up.”

Sverre is pulled away. Thor wants to rip off his long arms.

The last one is from Musphelheim, a half fire giant and half Vanir. He is massive, not as tall as Sverre, but he is certainly bigger than Thor. He smells of smoke, and he can control fire. His skin is dark red, and his voice is quiet, the sound of flames. 

Loki likes him.

Mostly because Thor hates him the most.

Loki sits up straight in his throne and tips his head onto his hand as he listens to Hroarr as he explains his family’s long history of misfortune, how he wishes for the King’s hand to help his people. Thor knows Loki doesn’t care, that he pretends it interests him at all that Hroarr has a brother who cannot walk, but Loki has not looked at him the entire time Hroarr has been in front of them.

Finally, the three contestants are brought up together. A cleric comes forward, announcing the three contenders for Loki’s hand, crying out for any more participants. 

Loki smiles, and the room goes quiet. “I have my own gladiator,” he announces, and he stands, holding a hand out.

Thor takes it, helping Loki down the steps. They both stop when they are halfway down, Loki looking down his nose at those gathered before him. “Thor will fight in my name, with my favor.”

“Fight for your hand?” A high member of the court, Afrid, asks, in shock. “Your brother cannot fight for you!”

Loki smiles. “I would have thought that by now, you would have realized that none can tell me what to do, or who I can choose to fight for me.”

“Of course,” another member of the high court, Folke, blusters, “but he is your brother!”

“We all know that Thor and I are not related by blood.” Loki tosses his hair over his shoulder, and Thor has a sudden urge to bite down on that bit of exposed neck. “Even if we were, I am King. My brother will fight for my hand, with my favor.” He stepped up so he was one step higher than Thor, and rested his hand on the back of Thor’s neck. “We meet at sunrise. Dismissed.”

They stood in silence while the throne room emptied, slowly, the gossip growing louder once they were out of Loki’s eyesight.

Thor turns on him once the door swings shut, their Einherjar guards moving outside to give them privacy, and he lifts his brother up, long legs wrapping around his waist. He moves quickly up the few steps to the throne and lowers his brother to it, going to his knees before him.

“Brother,” Loki murmurs, pushing Thor’s hair out of his face, “will you fight for me?”

“I will die for you,” Thor promises, and he opens his mouth when fingers press at his lips. Cool fingers press down on his tongue, explore his teeth, press into his throat and his palate. Loki tips Thor’s head back so he can peer down into his mouth. 

“You will kill for me,” Loki tells him, and Thor drools around Loki’s fingers. “One of my terms for the battle was that only one warrior would leave alive. I intend for that to be you.”

He whines. 

“If you lose,” Loki slips his fingers out of Thor’s mouth and then pushes on his forehead to keep him from chasing after them, “I will bring you back, and you will spend your life watching my husband fuck me. Is that enough incentive to win?”

He growls, shoving Loki’s hand out of the way and pushing Loki’s long tunic out of the way, ripping apart the tie of his pants. He presses his mouth to Loki’s half-hard cock, gasping as long fingers twist and pull in his hair. “I will win,” Thor promises, and he swallows his brother down.

His King is so heavy upon his tongue, so warm in his mouth, so good to him.

He presses his hands to Loki’s hips, digging his fingers in, feeling the small twitches and aborted thrusts as Loki gasps as his tongue works and his throat sucks him down and he breathes around his brother. “Does my brother wish to please me for the rest of our lives? Does my brother fight for me? Does my brother wish to bring down an entire army for his King?”

He slides his hands up Loki’s tunic and presses them into Loki’s stomach, digging his fingers in, wanting to tear through his brother’s skin until he is inside him, until he is more his brother than he is himself.

Loki spends in his mouth, and Thor drinks him down.

A foot presses to his chest, and shoves him away. He falls to the floor in front of the throne, and Loki smiles down at him as he pulls his own dick out of his pants and jerks himself off, gasping and thrusting his hips and whispering his brother’s name.

All he sees are green eyes and white teeth and a smile. “Good boy,” Loki tells him, his tone bored, already setting himself to rights, looking down at Thor as if he is an unruly dog. He moans. “I have more important things to do than this, you know.” 

“Is my King too busy for me?” he gasps, rolling his hips up into his hand, thrusting off the floor, crying out Loki’s name as he runs his thumb over the swollen and weeping head. A flick of Loki’s hand and there is warm slick in his grasp, tingling over his cock, and he shouts, thrusting one last time as he comes, shooting over his armor and onto the floor in front of the throne.

Loki leans forward and twists his hand in Thor’s hair, dragging him forward and pressing his mouth to his mess on the floor. “I cannot have your stains on my throne, brother. Clean up after yourself.”

He pants and cleans up his mess, licking his come off the floor and then swallowing it down, then gasping as Loki shoves his face into his boots. 

“You are so good to me,” Loki purrs, and his hand leaves Thor’s hair. He stays on his knees, stays with his head in between his brother’s feet. 

He knows what they call him.

He does not care.

This is where he belongs.

* * *

He’s an attack dog on a chain. He is standing next to Loki’s throne while Sverre and Eirikr circle each other in the arena. He had already battled Eirikr, who had essentially waved a white flag and begged him not to die, and Thor had been pulled off the field by a wave of Eirhenjar who had told him they were acting under Loki’s orders. 

Because he has Loki’s favor, he does not have to hide in the warrior’s tent. Instead, he stands at Loki’s side and wishes he had been allowed to smash Eirikr’s head into the dirt. 

Long fingers brush briefly over his bare wrist, and he turns his head to look at his King. Loki crooks a finger at him and he leans in. “We need Eirikr’s family’s loyalty,” Loki whispers. He nods. “However, I want Sverre turned into mud. I do not care what happens to Hroarr.” Loki flicks a hand at him and he moves away, nodding to himself.

He and Hroarr draw straws for who battles the winner of this round, and if the loser is alive, they will fight the other. Thor has been reining himself in, and he does not want to anymore. But he will, for Loki, for his lord.

Sverre wins. Thor draws the short straw. Eirikr is wounded, and quickly pulled off the field by healers. Sverre waves off any offers of assistance and turns his gaze to the throne, to Thor.

Thor turns to his brother, takes the hand Loki holds out for him. He brushes a kiss over his King’s knuckles, breathes in the scent of his brother’s skin, promises him that he will win.

“Thor,” Loki says, and he looks into his brother’s sharp green eyes. God, he loves him. He will do anything for him. “For me.”

He nods, steps back, brushes his thumb over Loki’s knuckles before dropping his hand. “For you,” he repeats, and turns to the arena, hefting Mjolnir in his hand.

When he was in the woods, for all those decades, he fought for his life regularly. It wasn’t a daily occurrence, but it was frequent. Frequent enough that it no longer scares him.

All that scares him is not being with his brother. He will die before Loki gives himself to another man.

He stands before Sverre and looks him in the eye.

“One of us is going to die,” he says, his voice low so it does not carry to the spectators. “I fight for my King.”

Sverre draws his short swords and lifts his chin. He is too confident, too sure of himself. Thor is going to enjoy ripping his head from his shoulders. “I’m going to enjoy fucking your brother on his throne,” he shoots back, baring his lips in a sneer. 

The storm rolls in, and he raises Mjolnir.

Lightning comes down, and he snarls, Sverre’s eyes widening, and the Vanir darts back, instinct causing him to flee. But the rules of the contest won’t allow him to leave, not until one of them is satisfied. Thor won’t be satisfied until there is blood, and much of it.

He roars, and brings the lightning down, darting forward, pushing past the swords, the hastily drawn daggers, the fists and the elbows and the teeth. Mjolnir hits him on the side, the arm, and lastly, the side of his head.

He brings his hammer down, again and again, until Sverre is crumpled and shattered to pieces.

The storm rolls out, and he gasps in a breath, pushes to his feet.

“Are you satisfied?” a cleric asks, and he nods.

They drag Sverre’s body from the arena, and he turns to his King.

Loki graces him with a smile.

His King is so good to him.

* * *

Eirikr goes to second blood with Hroarr before begging out, and Loki gifts him with a boon of a small treasure chest before sending him to the healers. He has brought enough honor to his family and does not need to continue. But it is Hroarr who has no more than Thor to lose.

Hroarr asks for a break so they can eat and heal. Thor takes a flagon of mead and a plate of bread and cheese and meat to Loki’s throne, and sits at his brother’s feet while he eats. 

“Did you watch him fight?” Loki asks, picking up a bit of Thor’s hair and rubbing it between his fingers. “He’s very good.”

He takes a long drink. “I’m better.”

Loki hums. “One of the healers saw him naked earlier, you know. Told me has a very nice cock.” He tugs on Thor’s hair.

He knows Loki wants to rile him up, wants him angry, wants him unthinking and rageful, so he can slaughter Hroarr and then fuck Loki over his body. 

He lets him.

He lives to please.

He bares his teeth, growls a bit, wolfs down another bite of warm meat. “Better than mine?”

“Surely thicker than the little thing you like to jab into me. Surely he’s better practiced with it, more amenable to being told what he’s doing wrong.” Loki draws a dagger with a flourish, and cuts off a bit of Thor’s hair, tucking it away into a small bag. “A souvenir, in case you don’t come out alive.”

“I’ll cut off his head and his cock both and present them to you,” Thor promises, and he offers up the rest of his plate to Loki, who grimaces and waves him off.

“Finish eating,” Loki commands him, but he takes Thor’s flagon of mead and tips the rest of it down his throat, a few drops falling down his chin. Thor wants to chase them with his mouth, but he follows his instructions instead.

The clerics call for him soon after. He tosses his plate to the side, drinks deep from his waterskin, and pushes to his feet.

Loki says his name.

He turns to his King.

Loki holds his hand out, and Thor takes it, going to his knee before him. Loki’s hand slides up Thor’s arm and cups his chin, pushing his thumb into the meat of Thor’s cheek, digging his nail into the outline of Thor’s teeth. 

“Come back to me,” Loki commands. Thor presses his face into Loki’s touch, revels in the pain and the burn. 

“Always,” he promises, and ducks his chin to press a kiss to Loki’s wrist, and then he stands, steps away.

If he dies, he dies with his brother in his heart.

He turns to the arena, where Hroarr waits.

Long fingers press to his wrist, and he looks down to see a long pink flower being tucked into his palm. He nods, hooks Mjolnir’s strap to the small hook on his belt, and quickly plaits the flower into his long hair.

He has his King’s favor.

He will win.

He jumps, Mjolnir raising him high to the sky, and he crashes down in a burst of lightning and thunder and fury.

Hroarr raises a hand, and flame bursts from him. He is a monster on fire.

Thor smiles.

This is the man who stands between him and his future, his brother, his King. He will not leave the arena alive, because Thor will not allow himself to be taken from where he belongs. Thor will fight for himself, but beyond that, beyond his self-preservation, he loves his brother. He will fight for Loki until his dying breath, and if capable, beyond that.

He stalks him through the storm and the fire. He swings Mjolnir, sending it spinning off through the darkness, glancing off Hroarr, weakening him, putting him on edge. He hears Hroarr yell his name from the storm, and he spins Mjolnir, jumps up into the air, and he and lightning are one, crashing down in front of the man who dares to try to take his brother from him.

Thor roars.

He brings his hammer down.

* * *

His eyes open and he snarls. He can’t move; he strains for a moment, but then he recognizes the drapes above him and quiets. His wrists and ankles are tied, and as he comes to awareness, he realizes that Loki is lounging by the fire, a book in his lap and a chalice of wine in his hand.

“Loki,” he whispers, and Loki looks up at him. “Did I win?”

“Oh yes, brother,” Loki rumbles. “You won.” He motions lazily with his chalice in the air. Something moves beneath Thor and he gasps as something brushes against his entrance. He tries to push down into it, but it’s too light, not enough.

“What do I get?” He bites out the question between his teeth as Loki’s magic works to slowly open him. 

“My hand, of course.” Loki turns back to his book. “Pity, as I was hoping I would have someone more entertaining in my bed.”

His cock hardens so quickly it slaps against his stomach. 

“You know,” Loki begins, his tone almost conversational, “I have servants to take care of chores for me. Perhaps I should assign one of them to you, give me something better to do with my time. A King shouldn’t have to sit on the cock of someone so useless, you know.”

He whines and Loki’s magic opens him, slides something hard and vibrating inside him. It’s so good, he’s going to wake the whole palace—“Please,” he begs. “Loki, please.”

Loki sighs, puts his book down as he takes another sip of his wine, carrying it over as he comes to the bed. Thor strains against his bonds, trying to push back into the dildo, trying to get closer to Loki, but he can’t move, only gasp and beg and plead. All he’s good for is this.

Loki slips onto the bed and rucks up his sleeping gown, resting his chalice on Thor’s chest as he reaches back for him, guiding Thor inside of him.

His brother is so good to him.

He is so hot inside, so tight. He must have prepared himself while Thor was asleep, or unconscious, or whatever he was, and he wishes he deserved to see that—he throws his head back, almost spilling Loki’s wine as Loki tightens around him.

A bit of magic floats the chalice above his chest and Loki’s hands push down on his chest as he raises and lowers himself. “You’re lucky I like you,” Loki purrs, and he nods, drooling, pushing his hips up into his brother, shoving himself back down into the long, vibrating dildo in his ass. It grows bigger the more he moves, stretching him, and he tries to beg for a reprieve, but a thumb presses to his throat and he—he cannot even breathe, he’s choking, and he looks up to see Loki smiling down at him.

“Let me take my pleasure in you,” Loki demands, and there’s still panic, he’s still just instinct, but he nods; he wants nothing more than to please his brother, no matter what it takes. The pressure on his throat releases and he draws in a gasp of air, saying Loki’s name at the same time, and then—

A burst of pleasure soars from him, and he cries out, and he just wants to hold his brother’s hips and rut down into him, but instead his hips shoot up and he comes, and he comes, and he comes, the dildo insistent against his prostate, and his vision whites out.

Once it clears, his body trembling and pleasure slowly seeping from him, he yanks at the bindings and they release. The dildo slips from inside him and he sits up, wrapping his trembling arms around his brother. 

Loki hums in his ear. “You’re going to lick that out of me, you know.”

“A pleasure, my lord,” he promises, and then he smiles against the shell of Loki’s ear. “When do we marry?”

Loki shrugs and drops a hand between them to wrap it around himself. He bites into Thor’s throat, brings himself off with a few rough strokes, and then gasps into Thor’s mouth when he pulls his head down for a kiss. 

He would have killed those men for just one more kiss from his King, for just one more touch. Kissing Loki is like coming home, like seeing the light at the end of a long tunnel. Like being dragged through the woods and seeing his brother standing before him like a Norns-given gift. His brother is his salvation, his pleasure, his reason for breathing. 

“I want to marry you,” Thor tells him. “I want to marry you more than anything in the nine realms.”

Loki smiles against his mouth, dips his tongue into Thor’s mouth, pulls his head back so he can lick over Thor’s teeth. “Good boy,” he rumbles, and even as overly sensitive and sore he is, his cock twitches inside of Loki. “Come, carry me to the fire. You can clean me while I finish reading.”

He is strong to care for his King; if he was weak, he would not be enough for Loki. He will work for the rest of his life to be worthy.

Lifting Loki is easy, and it is only a few steps to his lounge. He holds Loki with one arm as Loki drinks wine and leans his head on Thor’s shoulder. He spreads a warm blanket over the lounge and then gently lowers his brother down on his stomach, tugging Loki down so Thor can kneel at the end of the lounge and care for his brother. 

He spreads Loki’s cheeks and brushes his thumb over the reddened hole. He wants to shove in, wants to put his cock where it belongs, but he gathers spit in his mouth and then drops it down on Loki’s entrance, chasing it with his lips and tongue.

He dives his tongue in, chasing the taste of his own spend, slipping a finger in beneath his tongue as he makes a place for himself in the warm walls and the slip of himself. Loki sighs and settles deeper, tilting himself so Thor can eat him out easier. 

He gets into the rhythm of it, the way his mouth feels against his brother, the way his tongue presses against Loki’s inner walls, the way they both taste.

He hears Loki’s voice, but Loki does not say his name, so it cannot be important.

Behind him, a door opens, and he hears a small gasp.

Loki waves the attendant forward. “Oh, ignore him. He’s just taking his reward for being such a good brother for me. Tell the clerics and the courts that Thor and I will be married at the end of the month.”

Thor moans.

Loki waves the attendant out, and the door is shut behind them.

He brings a hand down to cup himself, hot and hard against his fingers. 

“You liked that,” Loki says, almost thoughtfully, and he twists to tug on Thor’s hair, bringing him up. He drools onto Loki’s ass, seeing the reddened skin from his scruff around Loki’s winking hole. “My obedient soldier. You liked that you were seen like that, just an object for my pleasure.”

He bites down on the back of Loki’s neck and shoves inside him, grabbing Loki’s wrists in his hands and holding his King down. 

Loki chuckles beneath him, lifting his hips into Thor’s frantic thrusts. “Good boy,” he rumbles, pushing his back up into Thor’s chest. “Just a wild animal, unable to stop yourself from taking what you want.” He growls around the mouthful of skin between his teeth. “No better than a dog.” Loki cries out as Thor thrusts particularly hard.

This is what he’s good for, for giving his King pleasure, for taking what they both want.

Loki is so tight around him, so hot, slick with Thor’s spit and come and lube. Thor wants nothing more than to live inside him for the rest of their days, to climb inside his brother until they are one and the same.

He can feel Loki chuckle beneath him as he continues his mindless thrusting, chasing his own pleasure.

“Do you want a ring or a collar?”

Thor gasps and comes, unable to even stop himself.

“Husband,” he cries out, and Loki tightens around him as his hips jerk wildly, releasing himself into his brother. “My husband, my brother, my King.”

Loki pulls off him and yanks him forward, pulling Thor into his arms, their mouths sliding together, more easily than anything that came before. Loki’s hand drops to the back of his neck and then pulls him down.

His King is heavy on his tongue.

He kneels before him, warm from the fire, his heart and soul content, as he closes his eyes and suckles. Loki takes a sip of wine and picks up his book again, leaning against the back of the lounge, widening his knees so Thor can settle on his knees more comfortably. He rests the spine of the book on the top of Thor’s head and he groans around the flesh in his mouth. Loki isn’t even hard anymore, but Thor is so comfortable, so warm, settled and deep inside himself.

“I love you, you know,” Loki says quietly, reaching around his book to brush his fingers over the stretch of Thor’s lips. “I have never loved anything as I love you.” Thor can hear the smile in his voice. “Thank you, brother.”

He hums, and settles down, leaning his head on Loki’s thigh, nose pressed to Loki’s stomach, soft cock in his mouth and in the back of his throat. He is so warm, so comfortable. He would never want to be anywhere other than here.

They’re going to have more names for him now, more derogatory, more cruel. He won’t hear any of them, too in love with the man on the throne. There are stars in both of their eyes, too enchanted with each other.

They can say what they wish. Thor would rather be the strength at his brother’s side than be anywhere else. Loki does not care what they call them; Thor does not care either. 

All they care for is each other, Loki on his throne and Thor on his knees before him, his loyalty to his heart and his heart alone.

He chose the collar, mostly because Loki can hold onto it and cause him to choke and black out, or attach a leash to it and drag him around. Loki wears a small bracelet attached to a ring with a thin chain, and Thor likes biting down on the chain when he’s fucking deep, deep within him, trying to make two become one. He likes feeling the thin links in between his teeth and across his tongue as he stuffs his brother full.

He enjoys being tethered to the throne, enjoys threatening those who speak against his brother with Mjolnir, enjoys being a weapon.

Let them say what they will. He will strike them all down.

**Author's Note:**

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